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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693823">A Mended String</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woolyhat/pseuds/Woolyhat'>Woolyhat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jane Eyre - All Media Types, Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:48:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woolyhat/pseuds/Woolyhat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>No disembodied voice calls out to Jane that night by the fire, and she accepts St John's proposal. However, Mr Rochester hears of the intended wedding, and must make sure it is truly what Jane wants.</p>
<p>A reimagined ending. Not because there is anything wrong with the existing one, but because I just can't get enough of that reunion!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jane Eyre/Edward Rochester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Mended String</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>St John had spoken his piece, and I stood silently before him. Slowly, the offer that had to my mind been so repulsive and intolerable earlier today, began to take on an overpowering presence in my mind. It was as though I could no longer see the counter-arguments that had previously been so obvious to me. All was obscured behind the power of St John's persuasion. I looked in vain for an escape on which to grasp, a trump card that might lay his arguments to waste, but the truth was that I no longer believed there was one to find, and shortly gave up the search.</p>
<p>The fire had not burned to embers before I was able to give St John his answer. "I will do as you wish."</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>St John wasted no time. All other preparations for the trip to India had been made. There now remained only for St John to bid farewell to his various English friends and acquaintances up and down the country, and the wedding, of course. If I had not been sure beforehand, the farewell trip on which he now engaged left me convinced that there was no expectation of our ever returning to England. He left with a church date set for two weeks hence, and promised to return home one day prior. Part of me believed that this was arranged so we would spend the least possible time together before the wedding, lest our obvious incompatibility should dissuade me once again.</p>
<p>It was with his sisters then that I was to do my bridal shopping. I didn't see why I should bother with new clothes if I was to go to India, where the clothes I already had would be too fine for their employment. However, on this point Diana and Mary were absolutely firm; if they were to lose their new sister as soon as they got her, the very least they could hope for was that they might be allowed to spoil me while I remained. It was with this aim that we travelled together into Morton.</p>
<p>"How about the milliner?" asked Diana, looking in at the hats longingly. "She should certainly have a white bonnet. Her grey one is nearest and it will not go at all with the lace we have chosen for the dress." Mr Flinders, the elderly Milliner, looked out from behind a particularly pretty parasol and watched the three ladies hopefully.</p>
<p>"Do not scare her off," Mary said. "She must agree to the slippers and the cape first, before we lose her patience entirely."</p>
<p>"Do not worry," I responded. "It is my pleasure to spend these last few days with you. I will entertain you both however you wish."</p>
<p>"Then you shall certainly have a new bonnet," Mary smiled.</p>
<p>As they perused the small shop, Diana started on a topic the sisters had brought up many times in the past few days.</p>
<p>"Have you really no friends that you wish to visit before you leave?" she asked, innocently. I looked around at her. She seemed very intent upon a bonnet that was not at all suitable for the occasion, and her eyes gliding over it, seeing nothing.</p>
<p>"No indeed." I replied evenly. "Do you imagine I would have been starving on your doorstop if I had any friends?"</p>
<p>"Well," Diana replied, eyes still on the ugly hat. "I suppose I think they are different things, not wishing to ask someone for help, and leaving the country without saying farewell. You know it is no trouble if you wish to do so. We will tell St John where you're gone when he returns, and he will just have to book another date with the vicar."</p>
<p>I began to fear that Diana and Mary must know more about my situation than they had ever revealed. Colour rose to my cheeks, and I made my own unseeing inspection of a selection of ribbons.</p>
<p>"Perhaps I have some friends. But I do not believe any good should come of me visiting them."</p>
<p>"But perhaps-" Diana began, before Mary cut across her.</p>
<p>"Jane has said all she wishes to say, and we must not pry." I smiled thankfully at Mary. Diana seemed slightly put out, and looked ready to frame the question in another way, when Mary took my hand.</p>
<p>"I do not think anything here will suit," she muttered briskly, walking me towards the door. "Shall we buy the fabric and make something up ourselves?"</p>
<p>Before we could leave, the round-faced Mr Flinders stepped into our path, determined to delay our departure as long as he could.</p>
<p>"I've been meaning to ask, did your man ever find his way Moor House, Miss Rivers?" he asked, attempting to lead Diana back towards his wares.</p>
<p>"What man, Flinders?" asked Diana. "We have had no visitors these two weeks together."</p>
<p>"Oh I'm sorry to hear that. There was a young lad in here 5 or 6 days ago as had a message for your brother. I gave him his directions, and hope indeed I did not lead him wrong."</p>
<p>"Do not distress yourself," Mary responded, for he did appear to be very upset at the idea. It was not often, one can imagine, that local ladies came into large fortunes that they delighted in spending in the area. "We will check with Mr Rivers whether he received the message when he returns from his journey. Then you may be at ease."</p>
<p>"Although you may as well know now that St John would most likely communicate any information to us that had come by messenger," interposed Diana. "Or at least we should be aware that such a message had come."<br/>Mr Flinders shook his head. "Well I hope you will think kindly of me if the messenger has been frustrated. It is a devilish thing to find the way to Moor-House on the best of days."</p>
<p>"How curious that St John should keep such a secret?" Mary asked, as we trotted home that afternoon with our goods. "Indeed, the house is not very difficult to find."</p>
<p>"Surely it is far more likely the messenger got lost?" I asked. "St John is not in the habit of concealment, I think."</p>
<p>"He concealed his attraction to Miss Rosamund well enough," said Diana, before Mary kicked her in the shin. "Oh!" She cried. "Forgive me Jane, I spoke thoughtlessly. Of course that is all in the past now, and St John loves you and you alone, I am absolutely sure."</p>
<p>I smiled, but said nothing. Truthfully, I was sure of the exact opposite, though I would never say so to my truest friends in the world.</p>
<p>In the intervening days I did everything in my power not to think of Mr Rochester. I was tireless in my studies of Hindustani, and when I was not thus engaged, I walked vigorously about the Moors. Indeed, I barely stood still long enough to consider that my whole heart lay at most two day's ride hence, and with a few words and not much money I could be there again, at Thornfield. Though the nearness of this temptation frightened me, it also acted as a sort of comfort. If at any point I decided to do so, I could be there again. If I truly could not go through with the marriage there was always that possibility. This happy thought was soon chased away by my reason, as remembered that such a trip was impossible. If I saw Mr Rochester again for even one moment, the true sacrilege of what I was doing by marrying one with whom I had so little sympathy, would be undeniable, and I would not be able to go through with it. Again and again, I was painfully reminded of my own words to Mr Rochester, when I had believed him to be engaged to Blanche Ingram.</p>
<p>"I would scorn such a union."</p>
<p>The truth of my own reproach struck cold to my heart, and I redoubled my efforts to distract my thoughts, lest cowardice overtake me.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The day of the wedding arrived, too soon and yet not a day before my resolve threatened to crack. It was with deeply painful remembrances that I dressed in wedding clothes for the second time in my life. St John had been extremely disappointed in our financial excesses, but it did not much matter. Any time he would so much as tut at the extravagance of my gown, Diana and Mary turned the focus back on their brother, enquiring about the mysterious messenger he had kept a secret. St John owned that the man had found Moor-House, but declared he could share no more about the business, and so the subject silenced him sufficiently.</p>
<p>For my part I could not regret our purchases. For a while I had made my dear friends happy, and they would need it in the months to come. I can never forget to the expressions that clouded their dear faces as they realised that I would be joining St John in India. They had already as good as mourned a brother, and soon they would mourn a sister too.<br/>My generosity reached such heights that I even allowed Diana to set my hair in curls, and Mary to clad me in her mothers jewellery. I had no strength left to fight. I would need every ounce to direct my feet towards the church. <br/>“You look so beautiful Jane. Truly! I wish you would look in the glass,” Diana sighed, setting my finals curls about my cheeks.<br/>“After the ceremony,” I replied, though I was not in earnest. I could not see myself in white. It would be too much for a heart already fit to break. </p>
<p>I met St John in the garden, where we were to walk to the church together. While I knew that Diana had exaggerated slightly in her praise of me, no such exaggeration would be needed to flatter St John. He was smart and handsome, more so than ever, in a fine dark jacket and his best hat. I tried to comfort myself in the knowledge that I should have a handsome husband. Surely I would eventually find love in my heart with so much beauty before me. I clung to the thought, which did it’s duty and held any tears at bay. </p>
<p>Diana and Mary came out with me, but St John bid them give us space. <br/>“I would speak with Jane before the ceremony. Let us approach the church alone, you may go the long around.” Without waiting for a response St John took my arm and led me away from his perplexed sisters.<br/>“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Something to do with our voyage?” <br/>St John cut a slow, meandering path through the heath, and thought deeply before responding.<br/>“It has to do with the message that came just before I went away. Do you remember? I have wrestled with whether or not to relay its contents for weeks now, but have decided that I do not like keeping it from you, and don’t wish to take any deceit forwards into our marriage. I think you should know what it said.”<br/>My breath caught. I do not know what it was that gave it away, but I read the name with which he was occupied in his face long before it passed his lips. It is a name written in the language of my heart. I would know it anywhere. </p>
<p>“As perhaps you now guess, it was a message from Mr Rochester. It seems that in much the same way that I discovered your identity through mutual acquaintances, he has learned of your flight here. Do not distress yourself. He wished only to know of your safety. I would not have troubled you with this news, had you not been so anxious to hear of him.” <br/>He cleared his throat. “Well, there it is. He is alive and well, and you may cease any anxieties regarding him. I hope that this may free you of any last, circling doubts that would distract you from our mission. It is time to embrace the future with an open heart, wife.”</p>
<p>St John spoke without looking at me. He watched the morning sun pass behind clouds and cast shadows across the moor as though we were discussing nothing more than the changing weather. Though he may have been calm, my nerves were is chaos. It was many moments before I had fully understood the meaning of his words, and at length, I realised the truth of it.<br/>I perceived then that this happy news, snatched from the joy of my former life, had been withheld from me up until the point that St John had determined it might be made useful; that he had communicated it with the sole hope that it could make me a better missionary’s wife. My own feelings, hopes, and worries had been no part of the consideration. I turned to watch him then. Where before I had looked with as much generosity and affection as I could manage, I began to see his beautiful features warp before my eyes. There was cruelty there. I could not think how I had not discovered it before. He had had within his power my ease of mind for weeks, and he had not given it. In fact, he had left the neighbourhood with it in his possession. </p>
<p>I considered all this quickly; we were almost at the church now. Did this new insight change anything? If I had known the message when it had come, would I be standing here still? It certainly did not change the fact that Rochester was married, and if I could not marry him, what did it matter who I married. Yet something in my rib cage was gently tugging me away. Was it that string that he had described to me, on that beautiful, terrible evening so long ago? Was he tugging me in his direction? I wondered greatly that he had not visited, if he knew my address to write St John. I had been certain that he would not rest until I was back at Thornfield if he had ever discovered my location. Why had he not come? It was not even me he had written to.</p>
<p>A small voice, deep inside me, whispered my answer. “He loves you no more.” </p>
<p>It was the only solution. The vigorous, energetic Rochester of my memory would not be kept from Moor-House by a mere two days ride. Not with a love in his heart like my own. <br/>Now I began to see how it was. He had simply gotten used to my being installed at Thornfield. He had enjoyed my company, I was sure, but that was all. The moment I had not been before him those charms had broken. He had always called me elf, or witch; if he really believed such things, he must now suspect that I had entrapped him in his previous affections; that I had somehow bewitched him.</p>
<p>Had I? There is no earthly reason why a great man like Rochester should form designs on a creature like me. Governess, my mind cried in disgust. What first rate qualities had I? Perhaps those of teacher, and of missionary, but these things did not overlap with ‘wife.’ Not for anyone in the world but St John.</p>
<p>And all at once, I knew that the letter changed nothing. This was my lot. I was to be St John’s bride and nothing else, for I was fit for nothing else. Was it not better to give myself into this service of God, and be with someone who would at least make a performance of love, rather than be nothing to nobody as long as I lived?</p>
<p>St John had been walking beside me in silence, waiting. Finally I was able to collect myself.</p>
<p>“Did you reply?” I asked, when I was sure of a steady voice.<br/>“No,” he said. He looked ready to mount a defence of this when I interrupted him.<br/>“Good. I am glad. He wrote only out of a feeling of regret, I am sure. No good could have come from responding.” Tears threatened me once again, but I would not be vanquished now. We had reached the churchyard, where Diana and Mary were waiting, still slightly concerned. I smiled at them, and relief melted their worry. Was this how it would always be? A mask of emotion plastered over my true feeling?</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The preparations for the ceremony were begun and concluded in a matter of moments. In another, we stood before the vicar. He began, and the rites and vows that the custom occasioned were so delivered. There were very few people in attendance, as, I supposed with my limited experience, there rarely were at these things. I looked around, half expecting a Mr Briggs to interrupt the proceedings. Did I fear it, or rather wish it, I wondered in silence.</p>
<p>As it happened, there were a number of strangers in the church; two gentlemen in the back row, who I guessed were some friends or relations of St John, and an elderly lady who sat alone in the front. There also sat Ms Rosamund, who faced directly forward, emotionless, her arm in a young man’s whom I supposed was her husband. I pitied her then, almost as much as I pitied myself. It was a very grim gathering altogether. Not even the Rivers sisters could really bring themselves to smile, as the occasion heralded the day that would tear us apart. And the larger gentleman in the back row was positively scowling for whatever-</p>
<p>In an instant, the room around me disappeared. The flowers, the clothes, the sad faces, the indifferent; I could no longer see any of it. One of the two men in the back row had raised his head just enough for me to see beneath the hat he had pulled deliberately low. It was a face I knew better than my own, so faithfully had I recreated it behind my eyelids as I lay awake each night, and occasionally in my sketchbook when I was sure not to be interrupted. A face I loved more perfectly than any that might be sketched by a master’s hand, or carved from a block of flawless marble.</p>
<p>It was my own Mr Rochester.</p>
<p>Without noticing what exactly I was doing, I had left the alter and begun moving towards him, with no thought given to the vicar who stared at me in astonishment, or the man I was leaving behind. I cared only for this apparition, this sprite that had come to taunt me, of this of all days. Yet I felt no pain at the encounter. I was curiously elated. When one’s heart is given a glorious and pleasant surprise it has not time to consider what will happen in an hour’s time, or even a minute’s. It lives only in that present. And so my small frame, slighter than when last I had beheld that face, was flooded with happiness.</p>
<p>On seeing my approach, the man sitting next to Rochester spoke into his ear. They both got up at once and began to leave the church. In the throttle of such feeling I noticed not the cane in his hand, nor the burns across his skin. I noticed not the vicar dropping his service book in astonishment, nor St John standing as still as the grave, hands clenched into white fists at his side. I had only one thought, which pushed everything else from consideration; he would not escape before I had spoken with him. I would go neither to India nor even back to Moor-House for the wedding tea, not until I had understood the meaning of these things: of his coming now and not before, and of his attending my wedding to another man, without making his presence known. I had always been at risk of flying into wild passions, and I was in danger of being overcome by one at any moment.</p>
<p>I came out into the churchyard and looked about frantically. I could see them then, nearly beyond the gate. <br/>“Wait!” I cried out.<br/>The larger figure, who I knew was certainly my old master, stopped instantly at my voice. The other turned to find his companion a few feet behind. I was nearly upon the former now. He gestured at the other – who I now saw was his old servant John – to stop, and finally turned to face me.</p>
<p>I was arrested in my place at once.</p>
<p>It was Mr Rochester indeed, but not as I had known him. The man before me was altered greatly. Scars had torn their way across his face. One eye was sealed closed, and the other looked without seeing, bloodshot and darkened. A cane reached out before him, and I felt that he could not see me. A shrunkeness had crept into that large frame, and I saw that he was both thinner and weaker. </p>
<p>“Oh, sir.”</p>
<p>At my words, his head turned again, and his eye nearly found mine. I felt at once that though a great evil had been done on the physical, the true spirit inside this man was not yet extinguished. He looked sour, embarrassed. Try as I might, I could not detect any pleasure in this reunion from him. I was returned to my former suspicion, that which was awakened by news of the letter; he has wiped me from his heart.</p>
<p>He grunted, and then at length spoke.</p>
<p>“That is really you, Janet? I have only had John’s word for it, as you see.” He seemed to be trying to turn his face from me, now that he had placed me in space and knew where he might position himself to hide the injuries from my view.<br/>“It is me sir,” I replied rather breathlessly. “Are you not pleased to see me?”<br/>“I had best not say such things to a married woman,” he replied, with a smile that seemed more like a grimace.<br/>“Well, I am not married yet. You may say so for five minutes more.”<br/>He really did smile at this response. I smiled too. A group had begun to gather behind us but I did not pay them any notice.<br/>“Sir, what happened to you?”<br/>His mirth vanished. A look of pain and deep remorse crossed his marred features.<br/>“I am sorry you had to see it” he murmured. “Forgive an old man’s vanity, but I had hope to avoid to keep this last degradation from you.” He tried to smile again. “I am hideous now, am I not?”<br/>“Yes sir, but you always were, you know.”<br/>He laughed now, a true laugh. The sound soothed my anxious nerves like honeyed milk. With the hand that held his cane he reached out for mine. I noticed now that the other arm was tucked in at his jacket front, like Napoleon. I drew my eyes away quickly, before the truth of this could overtake me.<br/>“I am happy to have met you one last time, little elf. To see you well, and flourishing. I am sorry you should have your happy day darkened with such ugliness.”<br/>“I am not sorry,” I replied quickly.<br/>“I know should never have come, but I found that knowing the date of your wedding, I could resist.” He looked rather naughty as he said it, and I might have scolded him had it not presented a much greater question to my thoughts.<br/>“You knew I was to be married today?”<br/>“Of course,” he replied. “Your betrothed wrote to tell me of it. Wanted to put me in my place, I suppose. Well, he was probably right to. Is he watching us?”<br/>I answered in the negative without bothering to look round, and he continued.<br/>“I would not have you think that I meant anything improper by writing. But I had to know I had not done you lasting wrong in my evil ways. You know not how my actions have tortured me.” Tender pain coloured his voice as he spoke. But the emotion was checked, and he stiffened as he went on.<br/>“Yet I see now that I needn’t have bothered with all the worry. Done very well for yourself, haven’t you? You are quite contented without me.”</p>
<p>His coldness pricked my pride.<br/>“How could I be otherwise? You are a married man,” I said, repeating his words back to him. He started a little at my words. Perhaps he heard what magnitude of feeling was contained within them. He surely suspected I would now care as little for him as he did for me.<br/>“So, you have seen that I am well,” I went on. “I got along without your money. In fact I happened upon an inheritance of my own. Content yourself that you have nothing left to worry about, and leave in peace.”<br/>He looked unsure what to say. Lowering his voice a little, I suspected with deference to those waiting behind me with growing impatiently, he spoke urgently. <br/>“I will leave you if at once if you so desire, but first I must know; did you not read my letter?”</p>
<p>I blushed at the question, for I feared it would not throw my intended in a pleasing light. I chose to skirt around the truth.<br/>“I was told what was in it, of course.”<br/>For some reason, this news came as a great blow to the man. Indeed, he looked to be in so much pain that I thought again of his terrible injuries, that surely must be the root of his misery.<br/>“Sir, you’ve not told me…”<br/>“I must leave you. I’ve interrupted your happiness long enough. Please forgive me.”<br/>He pressed my hand a little firmer, and I felt that he was asking to be forgiven for much more than interrupting my wedding. My heart ached with the renewed touch, and I was determined he should have his peace.<br/>“I forgive you, Edward.” It was the first time I had used his Christian name since the weeks before he had led me to church. The feel of it tingled my mouth. I saw now that small drops of water had collected on his chin. He was crying. Without the attendant expression in his dark eyes, I had not noticed. And then he released me. John was at his arm and they were both gone from the churchyard before I could recover myself enough to move.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>“Where is St John?” I asked his sisters as I approached, who’s attention had to be wrought back to their brother’s wedding from Jane’s mysterious, brooding guest. Indeed, Diana was still trying to watch his retreat down the hillside when Mary spoke.<br/>“He’s still inside,” whispered Mary, concern clouding her features. “I fear he will not take this lightly.”<br/>“No, I expect not,” I replied, now leading the small congregation of bodies back inside. In a lower voice, I spoke only to my two confidantes; “There shall be no wedding today, I think.”<br/>St John was still standing at the alter, and had the appearance of a figure cut from marble, not flesh or blood. He had not moved an inch, though an angry vein had begun to protrude from the even, porcelain skin of his temple. I stood facing him, waiting for his to break his silence. At length, he did.</p>
<p>“Are you quite done humiliating me?” He enquired quietly. While his features remained carefully impassive, fury coloured his tone.<br/>“I had business to attend to,” was my only reply. He chortled derisively, a humourless and cutting sound, that worked to rather lessen my sympathy for the man, not increase it.<br/> “If it were for myself that I married you, I certainly should not proceed. But it is for God that I claim you, and he will not abandon you for injured pride.”</p>
<p>His words were as ice, but the flame now burning within me could not be so easily extinguished.<br/>“I’m afraid there is an obstacle” I replied, keeping my voice calm. “Before either you or God may claim me, I would read the letter you have lately had.”<br/>All façade was now gone. St John made no more attempt to cover his anger. “You shall do no such thing, he hissed. “It was addressed to me.”<br/>“You have not been truthful with me, St John. Would you truly risk your heavenly soul for so petty a crime?”<br/>He seemed to wrestle with himself inwardly. The vicar had now resumed his position before us, and awkwardly looked from one to other, clearly unsure if this were a married couple and not sworn enemies.<br/>He cleared his throat. “Are we to proceed?”</p>
<p>Finally, St John turned to look at me. He reached one hand into his fine, dark coat, and pulled forth a letter, pressing it into my hands. The passion had been quelled, and his former impassive manner reasserted itself.<br/>“I had hoped to save you from exposure to your own weakness. It was kindly meant.”<br/>Uttering these final words as if he were as indifferent to the subject at hand as the winds that blow through the moor are indifferent to the chill that they occasion, he turned and walked from the church as quickly as he was able.<br/>I turned to the vicar. “No, Father, I don’t believe we are.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>After assuring Mary and Diana I was quite alright, and doing my best to avoid the rest of the wedding party, I found myself, at length, alone on the moors. There was a large boulder that I had become accustomed to sitting upon during my daily walks, that was sheltered from the wind and yet commanded a sprawling view of the crags below. It was here that I sat to finally allow myself perusal of the note.</p>
<p>I began in confusion, owing to the unfamiliarity of the hand in which it was written, but in another moment I had remembered the cane, and the scars. My heart ached afresh. </p>
<p>The note began thus;</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My good sir,</p>
<p>It has been intimated to me that you have now living with you a young woman of about nineteen years who came to you in July of last year under mysterious circumstances. The woman I am speaking of is one Jane Eyre, though perhaps you know her by a different name. Be not afraid upon reading this that I write to discredit her character with misconduct from her past life. Quite the reverse – Miss Eyre is the most stainless creature I knew in the whole course of life. No; I write to you now with a request, and though I am but a stranger to you, I hope you will hear me out. </p>
<p>I must begin with a little of the history that I share with Miss Eyre, and I hope it will indeed fill you with favourable impressions of her character, though you may come to despise me. In the period before last July, Miss Eyre was installed at my house - Thornfield Hall - where she was employed as a Governess to my young ward. It was then that I fell in love with her, the purest most sacred love any man ever felt. It is with great shame that I must admit that at the time, I was already married, to a woman whom I most thoroughly neglected, though I believe she now has some peace.</p>
<p>I am sorry to say that I made my house unsafe for Miss Eyre. I wished her to live with me as man and wife, and naturally she refused, and was forced to flee my wickedness. She fled without food, money, nor friends upon whom she might rely. Before the chance communication that betrayed  her location made its way to my ears, I had long since feared her dead. Indeed, I still fear what has become of her as a result of my ill-use.</p>
<p>Now we come to the request. I know not under what circumstances she resides with you, Mr Rivers, but it is my intention to see her live comfortably. This is what I ask of you; that you might judge in what respect I may be of assistance to her. If she is tolerably happy and can reflect on the past without great strain, would you do me the honour of asking that she write to me? Just so that I may know she is okay, and suffers not too greatly at the works of my hand. </p>
<p>If she is yet delicate and unsettled by her recent past, do not mention my name at all. However, perhaps you may yourself tell me of how she gets along, and whether she has need of anything. I am very happy to allow you to be the executor of my generosity, and to keep the thanks for yourself. It is my intention to settle on her a portion of my estate in recompense for the evils I have done her, and I care not how she comes to understand the origin of the gift.</p>
<p>I now come to the most brazen part of my message, and I would ask that you use all your wisdom in judging whether or not to execute it. Not two months after Jane departed Thornfield Hall, we were struck by tragedy. A great fire set by my poor, unloved wife consumed the estate, and she with it. All other residents of the house were mercifully spared, though I was maimed and blinded in the destruction. This very letter is written in a hand not my own, for I regret Iam no longer capable of such things. <br/>I also became, and remain now, unmarried. If, in spite of all I that I have done, Jane does not despise me; if she ever remembers me kindly, or with a generous thought in your company; if the news of my deformity does not repel her, nor excite only wretched sympathy; if , in short, she would agree to such a thing, then it is my intention to make honest of all my previous overtures, and wed her. If you have any suspicion that such an offer might make her happy, I bid you would tell her.</p>
<p>I leave my fate in God’s hands, and in yours, good sir.</p>
<p>Yours &amp;c,. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before I had fully finished the letter, I was walking away from my favourite rock, never to lay eyes on it again, and towards Morton.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>When I arrived in town, I began to see the hopelessness of my quest. Surely Mr Rochester would not have stayed in the area, if he had indeed believed that I knew the contents of that letter. I approached the town’s single inn – The Lion Heart – and hurried inside the dim interior. </p>
<p>“Will you be wanting a room, miss?” asked the eagle-eyed attendant the moment I entered. I had not the time to waste with his question, so responded with my own.<br/>“Have you had any gentlemen staying with you sir?” I asked hurriedly. “This night or the last? I seek a party of two on a matter of urgency, a gentleman and his manservant.”<br/>“Miss Jane?”</p>
<p>I spun around in an instant. It was not Mr Rochester – as I would have realised had I given the voice even a moment’s reflection. But it was the next best thing.</p>
<p>“John!” I cried. “Where is your master?”<br/>John stood there, his mouth moving but no words coming out. A damp sheen of sweat had coated his forehead, and he looked quite as desperate as I felt. <br/>“I don’t know Miss,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “I was walking him back through the trees over yonder and he threw me off and, well, before I could recover...” I saw now that his temple was smeared with blood as well as sweat. He had fallen.<br/>“You know how his tempers can be. I got up and looked for him when I could, but… God, I’m sorry. I need to sit a moment.”<br/>The poor man looked absolutely stricken. I called over the attendant and ensured he had plenty of money to care for John’s needs and to call a surgeon if required. As soon as I could possibly manage, I was gone from the inn, and flying fast into the woods.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>“Rochester! Edward!!”</p>
<p>The wild beauty of that rugged, northern landscape, which had seemed so beautiful to me in my daily walks for the past year, now appeared to my wild and frantic glances the very essence of danger and cruelty. Each cliff face became a sure death sentence to the blind man I sought, each stone an torturous impediment. I called his name over and over until I had run myself hoarse. I pushed on, climbing through thicket and brush, always with my eyes trained on the ditches and crevices where he might have fallen. When I could call no more, I kept up searching, and when I could walk no more, I would lean against a tree for momentary respite, then begin again.</p>
<p>It was in one of these moments of rest that I set down on a stump by a small stream, breathing deeply, and pulling twigs and thorns from where they were trapped in my sleeves and petticoat. My beautiful wedding clothes were now completely ruined. If I had had room to think of them, I would have pitied Diana and Mary indeed.</p>
<p>I watched the stream run by as my breathing returned to normal, and my determination regrouped. At length, when I had almost recovered, I picked myself up to begin again, when suddenly I was rooted to the spot; a sound, like that of an injured animal, reached my ears and moved my pity, before I could fully comprehend it. The low moan filled the glen, tearing at my soul, and as I looked around to see the carcass of an injured wolf or a ravaged deer, I saw instead the shaggy mane of a fallen man, not beast. Sick with relief, though my concern was not fully abated, I made my way through the trees that remained between us, and beheld Mr Rochester at last, lying with his back to a fine old oak, legs splayed out in the grass.</p>
<p>He did not appear to have noticed my approach, so consumed was he in his own pain. The dusk was gathering now, but I could still see his face, and saw that he was weeping. Very softly, I spoke to him.<br/>“Are you hurt?”</p>
<p>In spite of my delicacy, he started like a hunted thing, pulling back from me though I reached towards him.<br/>“Who is there?” he barked.<br/>“You do not know me, sir?” <br/>I abandoned hesitancy, and reached out to touch his arm. The moment I made contact he grabbed the hand held him, as if feeling testing the veracity of my presence. I gasped at his touch.<br/>“Sir, your hands are ice,” I said. “Tell me what injures you. I must help.”<br/>The impatient command seemed to finally break through, and at last, he became sensible of me. He brought the fingers that he clasped to his face, and shaking slightly, kissed them.<br/> I kneeled upon the forest floor to be nearer to him, a great change overcame his being. He calmed like an lake in the eye of a great storm, and my only hope was that it would not prove so transitory.<br/>“Is that really you, Janet?” The ghost of a smile crossed his haggard features. “I had quite given you up to India.”<br/>“It is me, sir. You gave me quite a fright.”<br/>“Don’t worry,” he replied. “It is only a sprain, though I was beginning to fear how I might ever escape this wretched place. I always seem to have ankle trouble when you are near, do I not?”</p>
<p>It was my turn to calm my spirits then. I sat down beside him and rested my back against the same tree.<br/>“You are not to be trusted on your own clearly,” was all I could say.<br/>“How did you find me, witch? Oh God,” he moaned, remembering the real world now that his internal landscape had stabilised. “Tell me I didn’t hurt John to grievously?”<br/>“I think he is alright,” I replied. “You shall have to give him a very good Christmas gift this year.”</p>
<p>We sat there a moment in silence, enjoying our reunion, both afraid that the moment might escape us, like so many others had before it. Rochester held my hands in his larger grip, trying to warm them I believe, though I was in fact much warmer than he. When they were nearly of equal temperature, he spoke.<br/>“May I have the pleasure of knowing who I’m addressing?” </p>
<p>I looked at him.<br/>“You are serious?” I laughed. “I thought you were joking before.”<br/>“I know the person to whom I am speaking, of course,” he replied, with a sense of caution that appear unfamiliar on his confident brow, “but not the name. Is this Miss Jane Eyre? Or Mrs St John Rivers?”<br/>His face remained unmoved as he spoke, though in the dim light, I believe I saw moisture well-up once more in his good eye.<br/>“You are speaking with Jane Eyre,” I replied. “Though I hope that will soon change.”</p>
<p>You must forgive me, dear reader, for this lack of specificity. I can only say that part of me had clearly not forgiven him for the role that Blanche Ingram played in our courtship, and I had half a mind to settle the score. I did not wish to see him in pain, of course, but I did not think a moment’s jealousy would harm him so much, and I felt a certain thrill in using his own tricks against him for once.</p>
<p>For Rochester, the calm passed, and the storm returned.<br/>“Leave me Jane,” he grunted. “Go and be with your intended. You have youth and beauty to be your mate now, do not waste another minute with age and ugliness.”<br/>I bit back my smile, so the poor man would not see it.<br/>“Oh, I am not going to marry Rivers,” said I. “Surely you must see that.”<br/>“Why the blazes not?” He cried. “That fool wasn’t put off by a puny interruption, was he?”<br/>“Not exactly. But I do think he saw that the whole thing was hopeless. I demanded to see the letter, you see.”</p>
<p>These words quietened him. I could see the furious calculations taking place behind that dark brow. He turned to me with such a look of vulnerability that I felt quite sorry for my earlier trick. When he spoke, his tone betrayed hesitancy, coloured by fear, and hope.<br/>“You’ve seen it? Then… you did not know.”<br/>“About Bertha?” I asked. “No, and I am very sorry. And I am sorry for this –“ I said, touching his eyes, “and for this,” I continued reaching for his hand.<br/>But before I could continue these caresses he stayed my hand with his good one.<br/>“Jane, you must not trifle with me, I am afraid I cannot bear it.” The lines of his former grief were etched into his cheeks once more, and I saw then that when I had discovered him, he had not wept for his ankle. He had been weeping for me.</p>
<p>Determined to get to the point quickly, I began-:<br/>“You made two offers in your letter, if I am not mistaken. One I am quite without need of, for as I told you at church, I have inherited my uncle’s fortune. So you may keep your money.”<br/>“And the other?” He asked, barely breathing.<br/>“If you still desire it, then I will be Jane Eyre no longer. I will marry you, Edward Rochester, and take your name as my own.”</p>
<p>With such effusions of joy as I had never heard, he pulled me close as our awkward positions on the ground enabled, and held me as though I might dissolve at any moment. I was overcome with joy myself, my own tears of laughter meeting Rochester’s past grief and mingling on our cheeks. In another moment he pulled back from me, brow furrowing once more.<br/>“A moment, Janet. You were going to this Rivers fellow this morning, what of that? Are you so changeable, you elf?”<br/>I laughed at that. Everything which had that morning seemed so bleak and dire was now a comedy fit for the stage.<br/>“It was foolish, you are quite right my darling. But let me assure you that you need not be jealous. It was for the sake of the mission to India that we were to marry, and nothing else. I did not love him and he did not love me.”</p>
<p>Now it was his turn to be jovial.<br/>“I see that you are having your revenge upon me, witch. If I did not love thee better than my own self I would go seek out Blanche Ingram once more, to serve you right.”<br/>“Be serious, Edward,” I said, sobering up a moment. “Did you truly never stop loving me? I thought you had forgot me.”<br/>“How can it be possible that you still love me?” he countered, just as seriously. “I am not what I once was.”<br/>“No,” I replied, gently brushing the wild hair from his face, which I cradled in my hand. This was not the man I had left behind after all. Tragedy had somehow softened him, and injury humbled him. We were now true equals, in this world as well as before God. <br/>“No,” I repeated, “I begin to perceive that you are far more.”</p>
<p>With these words, I quelled any disagreement by bringing my lips to his. And for my reward, he kissed me back with a thousand stronger feelings, earnest and reverent, like one who has been given new life. </p>
<p>In a way, dear reader, I believe we both had.</p>
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